Home Depot: Not just for men.

Observation II:

My mom was a home designer and my dad was an engineer and a well rounded, do-it-yourselfer. When I was little, I used to go to construction sites with my mom and help her measure. I can only imagine what she must have put up with. Little five-year-old me, fumbling with a tape measure. My dad made me a tiny tool box out of wood and gave me a little hammer so I could hit old nails on fallen structures around the farm. I didn't realize he was just trying to make me feel good about myself. My tiny ineffectual wrists did nothing of true value for him. Nonetheless, it was only a matter of time that I too would pick up the trade. And so began the inception of a future career: contracting.

I found my future job while bartending. Which, ironically, was how my mom found architecture. She was making a drink for one of her regulars, and he asked her if she wanted to apprentice for him. She would soon create L.A.W Home Designs and hand draft blueprints: a now archaic art. 20 years later, I find myself in the same position. I wanted a change. I served a guy who needed help. And there I was, working construction.

At first I found the work challenging and fun. Soon it was no longer the work that would be challenging, but the daily social interactions. Without fail, I would walk into Home Depot, and before uttering a word or carrying any large building materials, I was met with stares. Usually, those of curiosity. Occasionally, those of a cat-calling nature. "Hey how you doing? Are you installing that yourself? You know how to do electrical? You need help loading? You're a contractor!? That's hot. A good looking lady who also knows how to swing a hammer -- that's sexy."

I have walked beside my boss as I was carrying a stack of 2x4's, while he carried nothing but his own body weight. And for once, it was he who got the evil eye. Women and men alike, shaking their heads in disapproval and disdain. Why would that man let that poor little woman carry all the heavy stuff? I laughed hysterically at first. But it's annoying that their disapproval is sourced in the misguided assumption that I am some kind of frail girlfriend, helping out her man. Never in a million years would they consider I am his employee, literally "carrying" out my job. When we went to the check-out that particular day, the cashier asked if we needed help loading. He looked at her and said, "No, I've got her (nodding at me)." She looked at him dead pan and aggressively said, "I wasn't talking to you. I was asking her." Solidarity is so sweet sometimes.